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Dane stood there.
She brushed a soft hand across his cheek and then swept it through his hair. He closed his eyes, picturing the two of them alone in her apartment. In bed. Her tender hands moving to other parts of his body, soothing him. Making all the painful moments disappear.
“He’s never even met anyone you’ve dated, has he?”
His eyes opened. Her understanding gaze gutted him for some reason. It’s as if she could see straight to his soul—all of his dirty little secrets.
How could she read him so well with one look?
“No, he hasn’t.” A wry grin twisted on his lips. “He always believes what Champ tells him.”
“And what about what you tell him about Champ?”
Dane laughed. “I don’t say shit to my father about Champ.” Then he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “He wouldn’t believe a word I say anyway.”
They made their way to the dining room where a large table that could seat ten people was set up as if they were at a formal dinner party.
He took the seat across from his mother. Gabriella sat next to him. Champ sat across from her, and his father sat at the head of the table. He almost wished his mother would’ve wanted them to eat out on the patio where the table wasn’t as large and didn’t feel as imposing. It was also a circular table where no one could sit at the end. His father always acted like he was some sort of king when he sat at the head of the table.
The first plate was set in front of them. A delicious Cobb salad that he always devoured. Francis was the best chef on the planet. There were times he wanted to steal him from his parents. Except he was never home to eat an actual meal there. It would be pointless to steal him.
The mundane conversation started. His mother was doing most of the talking, asking Gabriella questions about herself. What did she do for a living? Was she from New York? Her favorite things to do? Things a mother would want to ask the woman dating her son.
Dane found most of the questions harmless. Gabriella seemed at ease and didn’t mind answering.
The main meal was delivered—roast beef, with carrots and potatoes, and a nice portion of asparagus. Francis had also delivered a warm bowl of handmade rolls. Simply delicious. Every bite.
It wasn’t until the dessert was set before them—a slice of tiramisu pie, his mother’s favorite—when his father started asking some questions.
“So, Gabriella, tell me, why did you become a cop? Such an odd profession for a woman.”
He tensed, scrunching the napkin in his lap. Gabriella must’ve sensed his immediate tension because she slid her hand under the tablecloth and grabbed his hand, squeezing. Then she smiled at his father.
“I like to help people. Being a cop is a great way to help people.”
“But homicide?” His father frowned in that disapproving way. “It’s so morbid.”
“Someone has to do it. I like it.”
Champ scoffed. “You like looking at dead bodies? Blood, guts, and gory shit?”
His mother cleared her throat, throwing Champ a scolding look. “Language, young man. And must you say such things while we’re eating?”
Champ’s lips thinned in a tight line as he looked at him, raising his brows. As if saying, “See, she’s always on my case and not on yours.” He didn’t respond even with a silent gesture because fair was fair. Their father never got off his case.
“I’m curious, though. How did you meet Dane and know he needed help at the company?” The question surprised him. Why was his father stuck on that?
“Why does it matter, Mr. Holloway?” Gabriella countered. She smiled as if she received an endearing compliment. It always amazed him how she could smile in such tense moments. She even had when she worked for him that short week, and he had a short temper.
“Because it’s my company, and I’d like to know.”
“I don’t work there anymore, so it’s not relevant any longer.”
“But you were once employed, so I want to know.” His father’s voice echoed throughout the room. The very authoritative voice that said no one would disobey him. Even Champ never tried to test his father when he used that tone.
“Well, quite frankly, Mr. Holloway, it’s none of your damn business.” Gabriella increased her smile. She even looked at Dane and giggled. “Remind me to add a quarter to my swear jar when we get home. How silly of me to let that slip.”
“Excuse me, Ms. Stileano,” his father started to say.
